It has been a while since I’ve done a public post. GracieMusica posted a long lost story of hers from the third grade. It’s adorable.
Her post got me thinking. I’ve often told people that my mother has always encouraged me to become an author. I never shared why.
I didn’t start writing until I was 12. At that time I was writing short stories on an old Brother word processor. Basically, a typewriter with a brain. I wrote a short fluffy story about two girls who discover an old trunk in their attic. The trunk teleported them back in time where they met their ancestors. I hadn’t read “The Lion, The Witch, and The Wardrobe” yet. It was kind of like Back to the Future meets Little House on the Prairie. I submitted that to a contest and didn’t win.
I then wrote a script for a TV show that I loved. I submitted it to the Paramount and got a very polite rejection letter from an assistant explaining that they couldn’t even read the script much less accept it. She wished me the best in my writing endeavors. I still have my first rejection letter. LOL!
I didn’t give up, but for some reason my stories turned a bit darker. I think I’d discovered Poe by this time. This was also the year we got an IBM computer. I did some writing on WordStar 1.0, but still preferred to use the word processor.
I wrote a story about a woman trapped in an insane asylum. She wasn’t crazy, but wanted a break from life. The people who ran the asylum were corrupt and it turned into a story of the woman figuring out a few criminally insane patients had overthrown the staff. All the patients were doctors and all the doctors were patients. She connects with a man who is “less insane” than the others and they escape. After reading that story, my mother sat down with me and told me that I should write. She still talks about a few scenes like she read it yesterday.
After that, I wrote a story that one of my teachers found. This particular teacher and I had never gotten along. I had always gotten along with my teachers even when I struggled in the class. This teacher and I butted heads, I still haven’t figured out why. I don’t know how she got her hands on the story as I never showed it to anyone except my family.
It was written in first person from the perspective of a murderous old man who owned a huge house. He rented out rooms to people and killed them based upon their habits. Whatever habit annoyed him became the means of death. One tenant was fastidiously clean. He’d remove his clothes at night, fold them, place them in a dirty clothes hamper, and then push down on the clothes. After that, he’d put on his night clothes and go to bed. The old man (never named) was really bothered by that. It bugged the crap out of him. He hid a syringe filled with poison inside the clothing so that when the guy pressed down on the clothes, he’d be injected with the poison and die.
The old man never got caught and the story was his final confession of all his crimes. He wrote it on his deathbed. I remember a few lines from it.
So much blood is upon my hands. Coated and covered like a delectable sugary treat. I wash them and it remains. I lick them and I taste it. I’d bathe in it if I could. Such a beautiful shade of red. Glistening and wet.
Sorry, I got distracted. Where was I? Oh yes, the veterinarian.
After my teacher found this, she referred me for psychological testing. She thought I was insane and disturbed. I didn’t write again for a very long time. The school psychologist determined that I was creative not insane. That teacher never accepted that answer. We moved so I could change schools. (My brother wasn’t happy in his school either, but for other reasons.) My mother made sure my permanent record reflected the psychologist’s findings so I wouldn’t be haunted by a reputation. In the seventh grade, I had a new start and I didn’t write.
Lately, I’ve been toying with rewriting “This Old House”. I don’t think I ever will, but I will be incorporating elements of it into “Recovered Flotsam”. Nothing wrong with cannibalizing your own work, right? LOL
Showing posts with label Writing mojo. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Writing mojo. Show all posts
Wednesday, March 17, 2010
Tuesday, March 10, 2009
Crazytrain off-loading at Crazytown
Hi again.
(Insert litany of excuses for not blogging)
With all the authors wigging out, tweaking out, flipping out, and flaking out in obvious and subtle ways, it makes a gal a little nervous to blog. Shit, what if I’m batshit insane too, but I don’t know it? LOL We all have our hidden crazy, right? Maybe we like the Saiyuki collector “action figures” to be a certain freaking way on our bookshelves and we’re a bit miffed because we currently don’t have the room to place them JUST SO. Or maybe we turn into Ultima "Bitch from Hell" when our working time is interrupted for stupid shit. (Are you bleeding? Is someone dying? Is something on fire? No? It’s not an emergency, fuck off.) Or maybe I’m showing a bit too much of my hidden crazy right now. LOL
If we live, work, and play on the internet long enough we will eventually type something that sounded oh-so-good at the time. A few years later and…shit…it’s still there. We hope it gets buried in the bowels of google, but it’s still THERE.
But, sometimes there is a group of people who tend to reveal their crazy a bit too often and too frequently. Authors are one of those groups of people. We start writing and all of sudden we start smoking (anyone seen my lighter…the one shaped like a coffee cup?), then we get way too many cats (the four in this house are fine btw and the crapload outside seem to be fine too.), then we start drinking (OMG Blue, the mandarin vodka was awesome!), then comes absinthe, then drugs, and finally we off ourselves.
Did I REALLY thoroughly think about this career path?
Speaking of career paths, while I was off working and dealing with life, I missed a pretty important announcement. Metaldog/Irondog (anyone know what penname she’s using for her work? I forgot to ask on the phone last night) has TWO contracts with TQ! How awesome is that? Good job, MD! We’re all cheering for you, dear. (Hope you thought about this career path.)
But, I thought I’d check in with everyone and let ya’ll know that I still have the same level of crazy that I’ve always had. So far, I’ve not experienced any alien abductions or revelations from God. My spiritual life is what it has always been: sometimes I go to Mass, sometimes I go to church, sometimes I go to drum circle, and sometimes I look at the wall and think I should be doing something else (playing a lvl 80 holy spec priest does not get one closer to God BTW). The dog next door, Sam, isn’t talking to me. There’s no grape Kool-Aid in the house and no one is getting castrated. Furthermore, I have no intention of walking away from my keyboard or genre. I’m just much, much slower than before due to this nerve problem that will, probably, never go away.
(Insert litany of excuses for not blogging)
With all the authors wigging out, tweaking out, flipping out, and flaking out in obvious and subtle ways, it makes a gal a little nervous to blog. Shit, what if I’m batshit insane too, but I don’t know it? LOL We all have our hidden crazy, right? Maybe we like the Saiyuki collector “action figures” to be a certain freaking way on our bookshelves and we’re a bit miffed because we currently don’t have the room to place them JUST SO. Or maybe we turn into Ultima "Bitch from Hell" when our working time is interrupted for stupid shit. (Are you bleeding? Is someone dying? Is something on fire? No? It’s not an emergency, fuck off.) Or maybe I’m showing a bit too much of my hidden crazy right now. LOL
If we live, work, and play on the internet long enough we will eventually type something that sounded oh-so-good at the time. A few years later and…shit…it’s still there. We hope it gets buried in the bowels of google, but it’s still THERE.
But, sometimes there is a group of people who tend to reveal their crazy a bit too often and too frequently. Authors are one of those groups of people. We start writing and all of sudden we start smoking (anyone seen my lighter…the one shaped like a coffee cup?), then we get way too many cats (the four in this house are fine btw and the crapload outside seem to be fine too.), then we start drinking (OMG Blue, the mandarin vodka was awesome!), then comes absinthe, then drugs, and finally we off ourselves.
Did I REALLY thoroughly think about this career path?
Speaking of career paths, while I was off working and dealing with life, I missed a pretty important announcement. Metaldog/Irondog (anyone know what penname she’s using for her work? I forgot to ask on the phone last night) has TWO contracts with TQ! How awesome is that? Good job, MD! We’re all cheering for you, dear. (Hope you thought about this career path.)
But, I thought I’d check in with everyone and let ya’ll know that I still have the same level of crazy that I’ve always had. So far, I’ve not experienced any alien abductions or revelations from God. My spiritual life is what it has always been: sometimes I go to Mass, sometimes I go to church, sometimes I go to drum circle, and sometimes I look at the wall and think I should be doing something else (playing a lvl 80 holy spec priest does not get one closer to God BTW). The dog next door, Sam, isn’t talking to me. There’s no grape Kool-Aid in the house and no one is getting castrated. Furthermore, I have no intention of walking away from my keyboard or genre. I’m just much, much slower than before due to this nerve problem that will, probably, never go away.
Thursday, April 10, 2008
Not dead yet!
Whoa…yeah…I’m not dead, yet. LOL!
Life is a funny thing, ya know. You settled down in a routine and think you can coast a while with everything being status quo. Then, something happens and tosses everything in a tizzy.
As many of you know, I’ve separated from my husband. Needless to say, that involved a move. A friend of mine, recently single, and another friend of mine, also recently single, decided we’d all make great roommates. Father Bryan moved at the same time I moved and we helped each other move. He’s living in a place that better fits his personality, but isn’t too far for visits. Thus began the “move that never ends”.
Once I get into a routine and something breaks it, it’s very difficult for me to get back into a routine. When another author pointed out that I hadn’t updated jack-squat since mid-Feb, I realized I REALLY needed to make a better effort at getting back into my routine. I apologize for causing worry in those who have contacted me to make sure I was still breathing.
I’ve been busy. (When have I not said that?) Between the separation, the move that never ends, working (not as hard as I should) on edits, Rascal going through his whole “I want the world to know I hate moving” phase, and making time in my life for Folgers…I’ve been MIA on my blogs. (Folgers: The best part of waking up is Folgers in your Cup. You fill in the blanks.)
This, ladies and gentlemen, is an example of poor writing discipline and, let me cut myself a little slack here, an example of when life explodes all over the place. I now live in a very rural area where the cows and alpacas outnumber the people. It’s taken a bit to adjust to rural life, but I’m enjoying it thus far.
Oh, and did I mention a hacker attack of a very personal nature, my desk falling apart during the move (I’m currently working on half the space I’m accustomed to with it propped up by boxes), a death threat, and trying to switch from night shift to day shift. Yeah…life has been like that. LOL!
Story Updates:
About to Sin: I’ve heard back from one beta. There are a few minor corrections suggested by him and then it’s back to waiting on the other betas. I’ll wait another week and drop a line asking if they’ve forgotten about me. If I don’t hear back from them shortly, I’ll have to face agents and publishers without full beta attention.
Personal Demon: In the hands of my editor. The artwork is in and we’re hoping for the anthology to be released mid to late 2008.
Full Circle: In the hands of my editor being brought into Freya’s Bower’s house style. We’re hoping for re-release later this year.
Tainted Past: Currently undergoing plot edits and in my hands. I’m going to say we’re hoping for release later this year, but my gut tells me early next year.
Selling Foxx: Currently in the hands of my editor and we’re expecting that anthology to be out in the next few months. The last date I heard was July, but I don’t know how solid that was. So, when Coming Together with Pride is released, I’ll let you know. That will be both an e-book and a paper book. You’ll be able to get the ebook a couple of months before the paper book will be on Amazon.
Next WIP: Other than About to Sin, I’ll be giving a bulk of my attention to my comedy sci-fi story. I have a lot of dark titles coming out and I don’t want readers to think I only write dark fiction. I want a snarky comedy in there so that my author brand doesn’t get pigeonholed.
Frankly, I’m doing quite well and emotionally I feel as if I’m in a better place than I have been in a long time. I’m just having difficulty getting my act together after this latest life interruption. I’m feeling the itch to write when I’m unable to get to a keyboard or too tired to see straight. All in all, life has been good the past few months and I hope the same holds true for all of you.
Life is a funny thing, ya know. You settled down in a routine and think you can coast a while with everything being status quo. Then, something happens and tosses everything in a tizzy.
As many of you know, I’ve separated from my husband. Needless to say, that involved a move. A friend of mine, recently single, and another friend of mine, also recently single, decided we’d all make great roommates. Father Bryan moved at the same time I moved and we helped each other move. He’s living in a place that better fits his personality, but isn’t too far for visits. Thus began the “move that never ends”.
Once I get into a routine and something breaks it, it’s very difficult for me to get back into a routine. When another author pointed out that I hadn’t updated jack-squat since mid-Feb, I realized I REALLY needed to make a better effort at getting back into my routine. I apologize for causing worry in those who have contacted me to make sure I was still breathing.
I’ve been busy. (When have I not said that?) Between the separation, the move that never ends, working (not as hard as I should) on edits, Rascal going through his whole “I want the world to know I hate moving” phase, and making time in my life for Folgers…I’ve been MIA on my blogs. (Folgers: The best part of waking up is Folgers in your Cup. You fill in the blanks.)
This, ladies and gentlemen, is an example of poor writing discipline and, let me cut myself a little slack here, an example of when life explodes all over the place. I now live in a very rural area where the cows and alpacas outnumber the people. It’s taken a bit to adjust to rural life, but I’m enjoying it thus far.
Oh, and did I mention a hacker attack of a very personal nature, my desk falling apart during the move (I’m currently working on half the space I’m accustomed to with it propped up by boxes), a death threat, and trying to switch from night shift to day shift. Yeah…life has been like that. LOL!
Story Updates:
About to Sin: I’ve heard back from one beta. There are a few minor corrections suggested by him and then it’s back to waiting on the other betas. I’ll wait another week and drop a line asking if they’ve forgotten about me. If I don’t hear back from them shortly, I’ll have to face agents and publishers without full beta attention.
Personal Demon: In the hands of my editor. The artwork is in and we’re hoping for the anthology to be released mid to late 2008.
Full Circle: In the hands of my editor being brought into Freya’s Bower’s house style. We’re hoping for re-release later this year.
Tainted Past: Currently undergoing plot edits and in my hands. I’m going to say we’re hoping for release later this year, but my gut tells me early next year.
Selling Foxx: Currently in the hands of my editor and we’re expecting that anthology to be out in the next few months. The last date I heard was July, but I don’t know how solid that was. So, when Coming Together with Pride is released, I’ll let you know. That will be both an e-book and a paper book. You’ll be able to get the ebook a couple of months before the paper book will be on Amazon.
Next WIP: Other than About to Sin, I’ll be giving a bulk of my attention to my comedy sci-fi story. I have a lot of dark titles coming out and I don’t want readers to think I only write dark fiction. I want a snarky comedy in there so that my author brand doesn’t get pigeonholed.
Frankly, I’m doing quite well and emotionally I feel as if I’m in a better place than I have been in a long time. I’m just having difficulty getting my act together after this latest life interruption. I’m feeling the itch to write when I’m unable to get to a keyboard or too tired to see straight. All in all, life has been good the past few months and I hope the same holds true for all of you.
Tuesday, January 16, 2007
Shh…don’t wake the beast…
I think my writing mojo came back at 5:30 this morning. No one move. We might scare it away.
I got it back via yaoi. Ah, yaoi, how much do I love thee? Sure 75% of the stories are the same tired storylines we’ve all come to love and hate, but there’s something special about pretty men. Mmm….pretty men.
Note: I said “pretty” men. Not “handsome” men. Yaoi has “pretty” men. Sometimes painfully beautiful in ways that could never mimic reality. It’s pure fantasy through and through, but I gobble it up. And angst! OMG! Every single story contains angst even if the mangaka has to been over backwards to create it.
I don’t mind. Sure, the rare jewel that has an engaging story stands way above the rest, but…but…they’re so PRETTY!
Yaoi. My anti-block! XD
I got it back via yaoi. Ah, yaoi, how much do I love thee? Sure 75% of the stories are the same tired storylines we’ve all come to love and hate, but there’s something special about pretty men. Mmm….pretty men.
Note: I said “pretty” men. Not “handsome” men. Yaoi has “pretty” men. Sometimes painfully beautiful in ways that could never mimic reality. It’s pure fantasy through and through, but I gobble it up. And angst! OMG! Every single story contains angst even if the mangaka has to been over backwards to create it.
I don’t mind. Sure, the rare jewel that has an engaging story stands way above the rest, but…but…they’re so PRETTY!
Yaoi. My anti-block! XD
Monday, January 15, 2007
Stop the Block!
One of the things I do when I feel a bit blocked with my writing, is that I visit my finished stuff. I will “fanfic” my own characters. Yeah, I know it’s cheesy, but sometimes working with familiar characters can help get the juices flowing.
The sad part is that this recent block isn’t from a lack of ideas it’s because I’ve been ill. I can’t seem to hold the concentration to carry a full story.
So, here’s a cute scene with Alvaro and Josiah (my favorite play couple) from “Full Circle.” I hope you like it and I hope it gets my mojo back and I can return to working on “About to Sin.”
“Soaked Socks.”
It was hot. It was that sticky kind of hot that leaves a bad taste in your mouth. The sun, directly overhead, burned bright and strong. Standing in the shade of the church, Josiah watched Alvaro by the waterfall basin.
Alvaro had his long blond hair up in a high ponytail fully exposing his neck. His pointless glasses sat carefully folded on a rock next to him. He wore a white t-shirt and a pair of blue shorts that swallowed him. Bending over, he gave Josiah an excellent view of his ass. After dipping a rag into the clear water, Alvaro wrung it out over his head. Water sparkled in the light as it fell to his face.
Again and again he soaked himself.
Josiah should be working, but he couldn't pull his eyes away. Normally, he gave his advanced sword fighting lesson to the humans at this time, but something about water running down Alvaro's chest wouldn't release him.
After one more soaking, Alvaro shook his head and put on his glasses. Josiah smirked. The t-shirt clung to Alvaro's chest and, in a few spots, hinted at the blond's skin tone. The shorts, heavy with water, sagged showing a little too much of Alvaro's hips. His legs poked out from under the shorts and the shading of his calf muscles directed the water to his socks. Oh, isn't that cute? Little lumps of white and wet cotton around his ankles.
He'd never noticed before, but Alvaro had nice legs. Especially when they were wet. Those soaked socks around Alvaro's ankles kept Josiah's attention. The slouch socks dwarfed Alvaro's ankles and Josiah was willing to bet those ankles would fit perfectly in his hands. For a brief moment, in his mind's eye, he saw his hand curled around one of those adorable ankles. Kissing his way up Alvaro's leg, he'd watch—without looking like we was watching—the blond shift the sheets to cover his "naughty bits." A coy blush spread across Alvaro's cheeks. Water from the sock seeped between Josiah's fingers and ran down the back of his hand.
Alis walked by, sighed and rolled her eyes.
"What?" Not completely pulled from his fantasy, Josiah addressed her, but didn't take his eyes off the blond vampire.
"Admit it already." Alis turned and put her hands on her hips.
"I don't have anything to admit." He ripped his eyes from Alvaro and looked at her. See, he could stop looking any time he wanted to.
"Yes, you do."
"No, I don’t." He rolled his eyes. "I don't have a thing for him."
Alis hiked an eyebrow. "Just how did you know I was talking about that?"
Josiah felt the blood leave his face. Damn it. "I'm just waiting for him to be done. So I can cool off."
"Yeah, right, you keep thinking that." She turned around and started walking away. "Eventually someone will come along and not take him for granted. Until then, you just keep wasting your time…" She walked out ear shot. The way her arms were moving let Josiah know she was still talking.
Whatever. When it came to bows and arrows, Alis was the person to talk to. When it came to sword fighting, she made a fine opponent. When it came to…Josiah looked around empty basin. Seeking Alvaro—the vacant path up the hill to the village jeered at him. Every where he looked pushed the same emptiness upon him. Where the hell did he go?
"GOTCHA!"
Josiah jumped about three feet off the ground. He screamed and his mouth dropped open. With his heart racing, he turned around and saw Alvaro doubled over laughing. The loose blond curls around Alvaro's face dripped and shook with each guffaw.
"I think," Alvaro took in a deep breath, "that makes us 398 to 275, my favor." He pressed his fingers to his mouth and snickered.
"No, no, no," Josiah waved a finger through the air trying to physically erase the score. "You had 398 points last time." His heart pounded in his chest—from the startle or the company, Josiah wasn't sure.
"Oh dear, I did?" Alvaro nibbled his bottom lip. "So that makes this time 168 to 123, my favor."
"How come when you tell the score, it's always you winning?"
Alvaro put his hands on his hips and gave Josiah a long look. "The same reason why you are the winner when you give the score."
Josiah's eyes traveled down Alvaro's body. The pink of Alvaro's nipples tried to sneak through the shirt. Water still dripped from his shorts and those adorable socks were much cuter close up. "You're wet." Josiah's blood rang in his ears. His fingers felt especially dry.
Alvaro nodded. "Yes, it's a nice way to cool off." He handed the rag to Josiah. "Do you want to give it a try?"
"Sure." Josiah took the rag.
Alvaro started walking toward the path up the hill. "Should I tell your students that you'll be delayed?"
"Yeah, thanks." What did Alis mean by "taking him for granted?" Josiah scratched his head and cleared his throat. "Alvaro?"
Alvaro turned around on the dirt path. His pony tail swung around and clung to his neck. "Yes."
The light glinted of Alvaro's glasses striking Josiah mute. You have cute legs. You have cute legs. You. Have. Cute. Legs. Would that have been so hard to say? Silently, he shook his head and walked toward the basin. It was, apparently, that difficult to say.
Alvaro sighed and continued up the hill.
He didn't have a thing for Alvaro. Damn it. He couldn't have a thing for Alvaro. How foolish would it make him look to admit, after centuries of rejecting the blond, that now he felt something for Alvaro? Josiah dunked the rag under the water and saw the dry outline of where the blond's feet once stood. He did not have a thing for Alvaro, but he still felt incredibly foolish.
The sad part is that this recent block isn’t from a lack of ideas it’s because I’ve been ill. I can’t seem to hold the concentration to carry a full story.
So, here’s a cute scene with Alvaro and Josiah (my favorite play couple) from “Full Circle.” I hope you like it and I hope it gets my mojo back and I can return to working on “About to Sin.”
“Soaked Socks.”
It was hot. It was that sticky kind of hot that leaves a bad taste in your mouth. The sun, directly overhead, burned bright and strong. Standing in the shade of the church, Josiah watched Alvaro by the waterfall basin.
Alvaro had his long blond hair up in a high ponytail fully exposing his neck. His pointless glasses sat carefully folded on a rock next to him. He wore a white t-shirt and a pair of blue shorts that swallowed him. Bending over, he gave Josiah an excellent view of his ass. After dipping a rag into the clear water, Alvaro wrung it out over his head. Water sparkled in the light as it fell to his face.
Again and again he soaked himself.
Josiah should be working, but he couldn't pull his eyes away. Normally, he gave his advanced sword fighting lesson to the humans at this time, but something about water running down Alvaro's chest wouldn't release him.
After one more soaking, Alvaro shook his head and put on his glasses. Josiah smirked. The t-shirt clung to Alvaro's chest and, in a few spots, hinted at the blond's skin tone. The shorts, heavy with water, sagged showing a little too much of Alvaro's hips. His legs poked out from under the shorts and the shading of his calf muscles directed the water to his socks. Oh, isn't that cute? Little lumps of white and wet cotton around his ankles.
He'd never noticed before, but Alvaro had nice legs. Especially when they were wet. Those soaked socks around Alvaro's ankles kept Josiah's attention. The slouch socks dwarfed Alvaro's ankles and Josiah was willing to bet those ankles would fit perfectly in his hands. For a brief moment, in his mind's eye, he saw his hand curled around one of those adorable ankles. Kissing his way up Alvaro's leg, he'd watch—without looking like we was watching—the blond shift the sheets to cover his "naughty bits." A coy blush spread across Alvaro's cheeks. Water from the sock seeped between Josiah's fingers and ran down the back of his hand.
Alis walked by, sighed and rolled her eyes.
"What?" Not completely pulled from his fantasy, Josiah addressed her, but didn't take his eyes off the blond vampire.
"Admit it already." Alis turned and put her hands on her hips.
"I don't have anything to admit." He ripped his eyes from Alvaro and looked at her. See, he could stop looking any time he wanted to.
"Yes, you do."
"No, I don’t." He rolled his eyes. "I don't have a thing for him."
Alis hiked an eyebrow. "Just how did you know I was talking about that?"
Josiah felt the blood leave his face. Damn it. "I'm just waiting for him to be done. So I can cool off."
"Yeah, right, you keep thinking that." She turned around and started walking away. "Eventually someone will come along and not take him for granted. Until then, you just keep wasting your time…" She walked out ear shot. The way her arms were moving let Josiah know she was still talking.
Whatever. When it came to bows and arrows, Alis was the person to talk to. When it came to sword fighting, she made a fine opponent. When it came to…Josiah looked around empty basin. Seeking Alvaro—the vacant path up the hill to the village jeered at him. Every where he looked pushed the same emptiness upon him. Where the hell did he go?
"GOTCHA!"
Josiah jumped about three feet off the ground. He screamed and his mouth dropped open. With his heart racing, he turned around and saw Alvaro doubled over laughing. The loose blond curls around Alvaro's face dripped and shook with each guffaw.
"I think," Alvaro took in a deep breath, "that makes us 398 to 275, my favor." He pressed his fingers to his mouth and snickered.
"No, no, no," Josiah waved a finger through the air trying to physically erase the score. "You had 398 points last time." His heart pounded in his chest—from the startle or the company, Josiah wasn't sure.
"Oh dear, I did?" Alvaro nibbled his bottom lip. "So that makes this time 168 to 123, my favor."
"How come when you tell the score, it's always you winning?"
Alvaro put his hands on his hips and gave Josiah a long look. "The same reason why you are the winner when you give the score."
Josiah's eyes traveled down Alvaro's body. The pink of Alvaro's nipples tried to sneak through the shirt. Water still dripped from his shorts and those adorable socks were much cuter close up. "You're wet." Josiah's blood rang in his ears. His fingers felt especially dry.
Alvaro nodded. "Yes, it's a nice way to cool off." He handed the rag to Josiah. "Do you want to give it a try?"
"Sure." Josiah took the rag.
Alvaro started walking toward the path up the hill. "Should I tell your students that you'll be delayed?"
"Yeah, thanks." What did Alis mean by "taking him for granted?" Josiah scratched his head and cleared his throat. "Alvaro?"
Alvaro turned around on the dirt path. His pony tail swung around and clung to his neck. "Yes."
The light glinted of Alvaro's glasses striking Josiah mute. You have cute legs. You have cute legs. You. Have. Cute. Legs. Would that have been so hard to say? Silently, he shook his head and walked toward the basin. It was, apparently, that difficult to say.
Alvaro sighed and continued up the hill.
He didn't have a thing for Alvaro. Damn it. He couldn't have a thing for Alvaro. How foolish would it make him look to admit, after centuries of rejecting the blond, that now he felt something for Alvaro? Josiah dunked the rag under the water and saw the dry outline of where the blond's feet once stood. He did not have a thing for Alvaro, but he still felt incredibly foolish.
Tuesday, December 05, 2006
Anthropology and Writing
At first glance these two seems unrelated. Anthropology is the study of man. Writing is…well…a reflection of life. I don't care if you write fantasy or non-fiction, its life. There must be some sort of cultural common ground between the characters and the reader in order for the reader to "get it."
Knowing that the Zlpork wants his slitch means little to us. But if we learn that Zlpork is the hero and slitch is his soulmate, then we can relate to it. Suddenly, we want Zlpork to find his slitch and live happily ever after.
I once referred to the anthropologist's job as holding a mirror up to life and interpreting the reflection for those who can't see it for themselves.
That's the same thing writers do. We look at life, even when it only occurs in our heads, and we tell the people who don't share our mind what's going on. We show off the reflection of our creation.
Why not show off the creation itself? I firmly believe that no piece of writing will be exactly how the author sees it in his or her head. Even if it's as true as true can get and no detail is missed, the reader still interprets it and filters it through their own perspective. Thus, what the reader sees is the mirrors reflection not the object itself.
At least that's how I see it.
Knowing that the Zlpork wants his slitch means little to us. But if we learn that Zlpork is the hero and slitch is his soulmate, then we can relate to it. Suddenly, we want Zlpork to find his slitch and live happily ever after.
I once referred to the anthropologist's job as holding a mirror up to life and interpreting the reflection for those who can't see it for themselves.
That's the same thing writers do. We look at life, even when it only occurs in our heads, and we tell the people who don't share our mind what's going on. We show off the reflection of our creation.
Why not show off the creation itself? I firmly believe that no piece of writing will be exactly how the author sees it in his or her head. Even if it's as true as true can get and no detail is missed, the reader still interprets it and filters it through their own perspective. Thus, what the reader sees is the mirrors reflection not the object itself.
At least that's how I see it.
Wednesday, November 15, 2006
Missing Muse
Sometimes, we get stuck. I'm not talking about writer's block. I'm talking about those times when you know the scene, you know what needs to happen, and you can get there, but the words simply don't feel right or you don't feel the scene.
This is especially troublesome for those of us who write linearly – like me. One thing that I do to get back in to the groove is to close my eyes and type whatever. I talk about the scene. I ask myself what I need to accomplish in the scene and eventually the rhythmic clack of the keys revives my mojo and off I go!
I hope that helps someone else. What do you do when you're writing vibe if off?
Sorry about a lack of Word of the Post or Scene of the Post…I couldn't think of anything.
This is especially troublesome for those of us who write linearly – like me. One thing that I do to get back in to the groove is to close my eyes and type whatever. I talk about the scene. I ask myself what I need to accomplish in the scene and eventually the rhythmic clack of the keys revives my mojo and off I go!
I hope that helps someone else. What do you do when you're writing vibe if off?
Sorry about a lack of Word of the Post or Scene of the Post…I couldn't think of anything.
Friday, September 29, 2006
Excuse me, my neophyte is showing.
I dedicate a portion of my day to professional development. This is when I seek out writer-to-writer articles, blogs, etc. This is a throwback to my days as a research assistant. I want to learn my craft and I know I have a lot to learn. When I go to bed, I want to have learned something new or in at least one way improved during the day.
Sometimes, I find tidbits of information and make me raise an eyebrow. I've been a long-standing proponent of: Tradition isn't necessarily the best way to do something. It is, merely, the way something has always been done.
I've also always bought into the idea of (please allow me to quote one of my old history professors) "You can be a PhD and a SOB at the same time." Thus experience does not equate to someone being correct.
In the wee hours of this morning I worked on my professional development instead of typing the synopsis for Full Circle. What? You're not accusing me of procrastinating, are you?
"While working on my craft," indignation dripped from her voice, "I discovered a few articles that made me raise an eyebrow."
Here's my disclaimer. These writers might be correct. I might be wrong. Far be it for me to question the words of seasoned, popular and experienced writers. I'm still going to question their words, but I know I shouldn't. (End disclaimer)
http://www.romantictimes.com/authors_tip.php?tip=2
This article states:
One of the many virtues of the romance genre is the certainty of a satisfying ending. All problems and difficulties will be resolved by the last page of the book; decency, determination, courage, and love will prevail. The romance novel allows us to feel vicariously in control of a positive outcome. In today's world, the guarantee of a happy ending is no small thing.
Uhoh.
http://www.romantictimes.com/authors_tip.php?tip=62
This article states:
But with it, we get the happy ending that is essential to a romance, paranormal or not. And even though providing that happy ending is often tricky for the author, it's our responsibility to find a way. If we don't, we're disappointing our readers.
That's it. I'm screwed.
No one told me that romance novels must have happy endings. The only thing that I promise my readers is a good story. A reader once told me, "I like your stories, because you surprise me. You might kill a character, break up the couple or allow the hero to fail. I don't know what to expect with you."
I didn't know that in the world of romance writing all stories had to have a happy ending. What if a happy ending doesn’t fit the story? What is a happy ending anyway? Could someone define that for me?
If a happy ending means every piece of conflict is solved in favor for the hero and the couple stays together to ride off into the sunset. Then, I need to hang up my keyboard now. Sometimes my heroes fail. Sometimes my couples don't stay together or fail to get together. I have one story where I don't think the reader is going to want them to stay together. No, no, I'm not glorifying domestic violence or anything, but it's not a healthy relationship. Or is it?
In Tainted Past, the relationship is normal, healthy, and supportive. The kind of thing we all want and warms our hearts. The triad of men is cute, funny and they do honestly and openly care for each other. Isn't that just so freaking sweet it rots your teeth? Well, I'm writing this so we know there must be more.
The problem is that it's built upon a lie and the person lying doesn't know he's lying. Is the "guaranteed" happy ending the triad staying together even with it being twisted or is the happy ending the deceiver finding out his true nature and leaving everyone heartbroken? If he finds out what happened to him, it's ass-whooping time not hugs and kisses time.
Also, why do we have to promise happy endings? Why does everything have to work out in the end? Why can't the hero fail?
Who fell down on the job and let our hands get tied like this? I've not been writing that long, I know it's not my fault.
Needless to say, at this point, I was getting pretty nervous about my writing career. There's nothing wrong with happy endings per se, but the concept of guaranteeing one is terribly limiting. Could it be that these writers don't write my most recent genre of romance?
With renewed hope that I wasn't screwed, I looked for and found an article about vampires.
http://www.romantictimes.com/authors_tip.php?tip=125
This article state:
The main thing to remember in writing about a vampire hero is that he must be sympathetic and romantic. Dark and tortured by what he is, separated from the rest of humanity by a secret he cannot share, he still yearns for love. He craves that one woman who can see past the monster to the man inside.
Aw, crap.
My vampires in Full Circle break that mold. Yes, they're sympathetic, romantic ( Shush, Tami! They're romantic in their own way.) and sexy. Some are "dark and tortured" and some aren't. The rest of that…well…I'm screwed.
At this point my stubbornness kicked in and I came to a conclusion. I'm going to write my stories the way they want to be written. I'm not going to hammer in a sex scene if it doesn't fit. I'm not going to force a happy ending if it doesn't serve the story. I'm going to use double negatives if I think it makes my point better. (snicker)
I'm not alone. Nearly all the writers I've met break these molds in some way shape or form.
Come, my convention rejecting friends, let us be screwed together.
Today's "Word of the Post" comes from The Phrontistery again.
http://phrontistery.info/a.html
agraphia -- inability to write
Minutes become hours. The cursor blinked at her teasing her with hidden promises and taunted her by constantly showing her void of productivity.
Blink.
Blink.
Blink.
No words found their way onto the screen. Thoughts slipped through her mental fingers the moment she noticed them. She feared that she'd become
Sorry, writer's block. That's all I have. Agraphia strikes again.
^__~
Sometimes, I find tidbits of information and make me raise an eyebrow. I've been a long-standing proponent of: Tradition isn't necessarily the best way to do something. It is, merely, the way something has always been done.
I've also always bought into the idea of (please allow me to quote one of my old history professors) "You can be a PhD and a SOB at the same time." Thus experience does not equate to someone being correct.
In the wee hours of this morning I worked on my professional development instead of typing the synopsis for Full Circle. What? You're not accusing me of procrastinating, are you?
"While working on my craft," indignation dripped from her voice, "I discovered a few articles that made me raise an eyebrow."
Here's my disclaimer. These writers might be correct. I might be wrong. Far be it for me to question the words of seasoned, popular and experienced writers. I'm still going to question their words, but I know I shouldn't. (End disclaimer)
http://www.romantictimes.com/authors_tip.php?tip=2
This article states:
One of the many virtues of the romance genre is the certainty of a satisfying ending. All problems and difficulties will be resolved by the last page of the book; decency, determination, courage, and love will prevail. The romance novel allows us to feel vicariously in control of a positive outcome. In today's world, the guarantee of a happy ending is no small thing.
Uhoh.
http://www.romantictimes.com/authors_tip.php?tip=62
This article states:
But with it, we get the happy ending that is essential to a romance, paranormal or not. And even though providing that happy ending is often tricky for the author, it's our responsibility to find a way. If we don't, we're disappointing our readers.
That's it. I'm screwed.
No one told me that romance novels must have happy endings. The only thing that I promise my readers is a good story. A reader once told me, "I like your stories, because you surprise me. You might kill a character, break up the couple or allow the hero to fail. I don't know what to expect with you."
I didn't know that in the world of romance writing all stories had to have a happy ending. What if a happy ending doesn’t fit the story? What is a happy ending anyway? Could someone define that for me?
If a happy ending means every piece of conflict is solved in favor for the hero and the couple stays together to ride off into the sunset. Then, I need to hang up my keyboard now. Sometimes my heroes fail. Sometimes my couples don't stay together or fail to get together. I have one story where I don't think the reader is going to want them to stay together. No, no, I'm not glorifying domestic violence or anything, but it's not a healthy relationship. Or is it?
In Tainted Past, the relationship is normal, healthy, and supportive. The kind of thing we all want and warms our hearts. The triad of men is cute, funny and they do honestly and openly care for each other. Isn't that just so freaking sweet it rots your teeth? Well, I'm writing this so we know there must be more.
The problem is that it's built upon a lie and the person lying doesn't know he's lying. Is the "guaranteed" happy ending the triad staying together even with it being twisted or is the happy ending the deceiver finding out his true nature and leaving everyone heartbroken? If he finds out what happened to him, it's ass-whooping time not hugs and kisses time.
Also, why do we have to promise happy endings? Why does everything have to work out in the end? Why can't the hero fail?
Who fell down on the job and let our hands get tied like this? I've not been writing that long, I know it's not my fault.
Needless to say, at this point, I was getting pretty nervous about my writing career. There's nothing wrong with happy endings per se, but the concept of guaranteeing one is terribly limiting. Could it be that these writers don't write my most recent genre of romance?
With renewed hope that I wasn't screwed, I looked for and found an article about vampires.
http://www.romantictimes.com/authors_tip.php?tip=125
This article state:
The main thing to remember in writing about a vampire hero is that he must be sympathetic and romantic. Dark and tortured by what he is, separated from the rest of humanity by a secret he cannot share, he still yearns for love. He craves that one woman who can see past the monster to the man inside.
Aw, crap.
My vampires in Full Circle break that mold. Yes, they're sympathetic, romantic ( Shush, Tami! They're romantic in their own way.) and sexy. Some are "dark and tortured" and some aren't. The rest of that…well…I'm screwed.
At this point my stubbornness kicked in and I came to a conclusion. I'm going to write my stories the way they want to be written. I'm not going to hammer in a sex scene if it doesn't fit. I'm not going to force a happy ending if it doesn't serve the story. I'm going to use double negatives if I think it makes my point better. (snicker)
I'm not alone. Nearly all the writers I've met break these molds in some way shape or form.
Come, my convention rejecting friends, let us be screwed together.
Today's "Word of the Post" comes from The Phrontistery again.
http://phrontistery.info/a.html
agraphia -- inability to write
Minutes become hours. The cursor blinked at her teasing her with hidden promises and taunted her by constantly showing her void of productivity.
Blink.
Blink.
Blink.
No words found their way onto the screen. Thoughts slipped through her mental fingers the moment she noticed them. She feared that she'd become
Sorry, writer's block. That's all I have. Agraphia strikes again.
^__~
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